Lady Luck
by Indi26
Summary: The condemned soul of a young woman is put to the ultimate test as her only love turns his back on her and she finds that there is nowhere to turn. Post-Raiders, also contains a character from the Rob MacGregor novels.
1. Chapter 1

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_Disclaimer: I do not own the Indiana Jones license, or anything associated with it. I have written this story solely because I enjoy writing._

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_Trail of Memories_

Winter nights in Chicago were known for there selfish disregard of life. The cold bit into the flesh and the slums rose up to the sky like the broken fingers of a condemned soul. Snow that had already fallen throughout the afternoon had covered most of the city in a thick blanket of sparkling white fluff by nightfall. Streets and alleys were unusually empty, as if the entire city had been abandoned and only a few lone figures were left to fend for themselves.

A beautiful woman wandered into a graveyard of lost dreams and broken promises. Her black boots crunched softly in the snow as she passed the shattered display window of a dilapidated clothing store. Staring into the bitter void of darkness she searched for any sign of redemption, narrowly catching sight of something slouched in the shadowy corner of the now lifeless building.

Old, frustrating memories suddenly flashed passionately through her head, her eyes focusing on a single male mannequin, leaning up against one side of the blackened wall. The woman's eyes quickly sank to the icy snow at her feet; she couldn't bear to face _him_ again. To many times she had let him take advantage of her, pulling her from one corner of the world to the other, searching for worthless trinkets and artifacts that would only ultimately become lost again to the world.

She had tried to persuade him to stay, to fall in love with her again, to leave the world behind and watch as it unfolded around them. But he wouldn't hear any of it. He was stubborn like that she knew; once he made up his mind there was no way of stopping him. There was nothing she could do. He would continue venturing off into the unknown, rummaging about in old-forgotten corners of the world, for god knows how long before he'd give up; _if_ he'd give up.

With a sigh she shook her head and turned her back on the adventurer. There would never be any room in his life for true love she knew, only a false dream of hope and ambition that would never come true. A gust of wind then blew through the tiny store, scattering crumpled loose papers and old tattered clothing. The mannequin in the far corner therefore abruptly slumped to the ground; an old battered brown fedora tumbled down after it.

She shivered, pulling her dark trench coat tighter. Her short wavy brunette hair fell limply down to her shoulders as the wind caught it and played with the honeyed curls. She had a set of short bangs and wore her hair loose, freely. Her nose was slightly crooked, a bar room brawl gone badly from days past, but she left it as it was and never lacked from admirers.

The snow flurries blew hard with the wind and stung her eyes while she headed down an ice-slick sidewalk, the glow of the street lights reflecting off its surface. She could taste the oxidized dust on her tongue.

"Can't believe I've lasted this long," she whispered to herself shaking her head as an old motto her father had once told her suddenly fluttered into her head: When you run out of luck, you'll end up back in Chicago_. _

It was a haven for all sorts of devils and fallen angels. After three months of running, after a year of gambling against the gods for resolve, she had finally run out of luck.

On a cold December evening in 1937 she had ended up in Chicago, the city that never sleeps; or so she'd been told.

The sounds of distant music filled the thick, murky night air. A nearby doorman, cowering inside the lobby of an insanely expensive hotel had told her of a nightclub where she could find a stiff drink and cool jazz. Just so that she could break away from the real world for a while and escape the nawing pain inside her heart.

The neon sign in indigo blue above the door read **the Nest**. The glittering S popped and fizzled. She shook her head with a smirk and then entered.


	2. Chapter 2

_Gamble with Destiny_

Now Chicago was initially well known for two things, although nights at the Nest were filled with three things: liquor and smoke. The third thing the lush plush nightclub was known for was the fire and soul cascade clawing its way from the shiny metal tenor cornet on stage. The blue sulky music seared the air cutting heart and soul with a dismal apathy.

The horn bobbed and dipped as the handsome jazz player continued his solo. His soft reddish hair glistened with the aid of the stage lights projecting gently from the crevices in the ceiling. His closed eyes made it appear like he was in some private Nirvana of his own creation; his dark goatee gleamed with his every movement. The music swelled around the room as the band emitted a gentle, bleak melody.

At the end of the last tune, a smattering of applause filled the musician's ears. Jack Shannon pulled his lips off the cup-shaped mouthpiece, lowering his cornet to his slender hips. His limbs felt heavy. Shannon rolled his shoulder lazily, trying to ease the pain. The sudden cold weather in Chicago hadn't helped his old gunshot wound.

There was an old motto Shannon abruptly recalled his older brother Harry once warning him about: In Chicago, no man has a true friend. He winched at the old memories, placing his instrument on a nearby stand, shaking. _Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come back to Chicago after all_. Swiftly he ran a hand through his thick hair, collecting his composure as he rubbed his pounding temples. _There's just too many memories, too many _bad_ memories…_

"Are you feeling all right?" came a clipped voice, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Yeah…I'm fine," Shannon mumbled uneasily. He then looked down at the speaker and into a pair of dark, compelling emerald eyes. _Those eyes, I've seen those eyes before; the eyes of a person with nothing to live for. Whose life has been pulled out from right under them. The mixed feelings of loss and hatred igniting violently through their mind, like the flames of hell emerging from the darkness to engulf them in a fiery blaze. _Shannon shook his head slowly trying to clear the potent haze that had devolved there, only to realize with unease that _he _was the person that he had been describing.

The raven-haired woman tilted her head in concern. "I've seen that expression before, are you sure you're alright?"

Her melancholy eyes were rift with silent pain as if someone had shattered her dreams, but her angelic face surpassed prettiness in the way that babies were cute in the eyes of their parents. She was dressed all in black, slender and curvy in the right places.

An angel from the underworld whose wings had been sheared away. Or a devil from paradise with a body that would lead an ordinary man into the pit of hell and grateful to be crucified in her bed.

"I'll be all right," Shannon replied warily stepping down from the stage. "It's just that it's been awhile since I've played. I'm still trying to get the feel for it back."

She turned toward a table near the back of the nightclub.

This was a real woman. Not one of those bobbed haired girls he'd seen with high squeaky voices and short skirts. This woman had a past, a certain ruggedness that he admired. Women weren't really his thing anymore, especially after his beloved wife's unexpected death, but Shannon was strangely compelled to know more about her.

"Can I buy you a drink, pretty lady?"

A soft, sweet smile flickered on her face blinding Shannon in a heavy radiance. Instantly he was smitten.

"I have nothing better to do," was her shrewd response.

Standing aside and sweeping his arm toward the back of the nightclub, Shannon directed the dark haired women to his selected table. Helping her to her seat he watched as she rolled her legs over the fine leather and perched. The jazz musician then went to take his own seat, surprised when he heard orders toward a nearby waitress already being made.

"That'll be two Scotches for me and my friend here will be having..."

"Just the usual, Cheri."

The waitress gave a slight nod along with a small smile when she heard Shannon call her name. Returning hastily after merely a few moments the young woman set two empty glasses on the table while she took a bottle from under her arm and began to pull the cork out.

"Is there any ice for the whisky?"

Shannon laughed. "Lady, this is Chicago, you can just about find anything here whether you want it or not."

The amber tongue of liquid sloshed in both glasses as the young waitress poured, followed by an ensemble of ice chunks. Giving a light salute the dark haired woman slammed back each drink. Coughing, she collected herself. "I needed that."

"Well at least you didn't sneeze. Then I'd have to bore you with an old Irish story one of my special friends told me once about fairies." Shannon grinned momentarily reminiscing over some of the good memories from his past, containing a certain famous fedora-wearing archeologist.

Following his joke, Shannon was surprised when he heard a faint laugh emit from the woman across the table. "See, already I've pegged you as a woman of taste. You've chosen to be amused by my bad jokes."

"Are you always so charming to the women you've just met?"

"Only the one's that don't bite," Shannon chuckled just as the waitress placed a Martini in front of him. "But enough talk about me…now let's talk about you…and my reflection in your beautiful eyes!"

Upon hearing Shannon's tactless attempt at another joke the mysterious woman's eyes turned icy and her features darkened. "Listen pal, I don't know who you're used to dealing with, but if you keep on saying things like that you'll be lucky if you can still blow on that horn when I'm done with you."

The jazz musician smirked as he held up his hands in an attempt to ward off her anger. "Don't get excited. I devoted my life to the big guy upstairs; women aren't my style…least not anymore. That so called _friend_ I was telling you about earlier took care of that," Shannon declared remorsefully.

"And how did he do that?"

"Well, he didn't have to try hard…" Shannon's voice trailed off as he closed his eyes and took a big gulp of his Martini. The jazz musician didn't want to remember what had happened barely a year ago, back in San Francisco. Had happened between him and his old friend just before his plane ride across the Pacific.

Slowly reopening his eyes and pulling a crumpled cigarette pack from a pocket inside his suit jacket, he lit his charm back up in an attempt to change the subject. "But…" he let the single word hang for a few moments, taking a deep puff on the cigarette before continuing. "I'm sure you've already heard my story from some low life before and I'm certain you didn't come into this nightclub just to listen to me drag on about the heavy cross that I have to carry."

"It's not like I have anything better to be doing," the raven-haired women countered with a shrug just as another scotch was placed in front of her.

"You never did say the reason why you came here." Shannon's dark eyes focused on her raising the glass to her pouty lips and for the first time he noticed the small freckles that were scattered around her slightly crooked nose.

She laughed. "I bet you'd like to know." Giving Shannon the once over, her gaze lingered falling upon his strangely sparkling but intense blue-green eyes. "The truth is I just met you, I don't see why I have to tell you anything."

"I'm not asking you to give me your date of birth, I was just trying to say that this isn't a nice place for a lady on the run like you."

"I'll take my chances." She sounded so lost, so alone. "What gives you the idea that I'm running from something?"

"The first mysteriously enchanting women I've seen ever since I've been here walks into a nightclub in Chicago? Either you're running to somewhere, running from someone, or you have a death wish. Take your choice." Feeling proud of himself, Shannon bent back in his chair drawing another puff from the cigarette.

"I have no where to run to, this place seems as good as any." The cold words sent a shiver down the jazz musician's spine as he leaned forward, seeing now in her misty emerald eyes that she was being truthful. _She really is all alone_, Shannon thought with regret.

Stubbing the cigarette out in his dry Martini and pulling a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit Shannon made his way over to the weeping brunette. He pushed her hands away from covering her face and started to dab her tears away.

Embarrassed and noticing Shannon's presence in front of her she brought her hands back up in an attempt to force him away. "Please, just leave me alone."

"Listen sweetheart, I'm only trying to help."

The gently soothing voice reminded her of the person that she'd grown to hate, causing her to become distraught with anger. "I don't need your help! I can take care of myself!"

"Well, it looks like you've been doing a great job so far," Shannon remarked sarcastically. Pushing away he handed her the handkerchief as he heard someone on the stage call out his name. Turning toward the voice he saw a member of the band waving at him. "Yeah, just a sec. Charley."

Shannon then spun back around and hesitated as compassion filled his eyes. "My break's over…so, you said you didn't have a place to stay, right?"

"I already told you, I can take care of myself," she grumbled trying in vain to wipe away the fact that she'd just been crying the moment before.

"Come on all the places around here are already booked full by now and besides I have a suite that I'm not even using at the _Blackstone_. You can stay there for the night; it's just down the block. You probably passed it on your way over here." Shannon smiled warmly rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I guess I'd…uh…better be getting back then. Take care pretty lady."

As she watched the lanky redhead slowly turn his back to her and start to stroll away she suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She felt strangely compelled to call him back and was even more surprised when she heard her wavering voice do just that.

Shannon ignored the irate looks he was getting from his band members and twirled back around toward the dark haired women, now standing an arm's length away.

"Do you take requests?" she asked.

Shannon nodded. "Sure, so what's your poison of choice? Stewart, Oliver, Louis Armstrong?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know the song by name. If I hum it could you play it?"

_Odd request,_ Shannon thought but he was always up for a good challenge these days. "I'm sure I can pull it off."

She cleared her throat. A strange lilting melody sweetly eased from her lips. The short song nearly stopped the cornet player's heart and threatened to cleave his senses into tiny pieces.

He'd remembered the song from long ago just after he'd graduated college. Shannon dredged the memory. All the missed classes, the slumping grades, he didn't care just so long as he was able to escape to the barrelhouse piano saloons and listen to the jazzy music until the early hours of the morning. After he'd left collage though and gone off into the _real world_ everything changed, that was when the Mafia came into his life. He remembered running off to Paris, trying to get as far away as he could.

On one of those days inside the _Jungle_, a boîte in Montparnasse he was trying to think of a new song to play on his cornet, when his old collage friend walked in. He recalled playing the song out for him, asking him what he thought. He had said that he liked it, giving Shannon a few more ideas before he left on a train to Greece. That song was the first he had ever written and after that day he had decided to drop it, never to play it again.

_How does this woman that I've never met before know about a song that I created and have only played once? _Shannon asked himself earnestly.

Trying to hide his shock he abruptly cleared his throat and lit up another cigarette. _He's the only one I played that song for…wasn't he?_ Shannon drew a long puff from the cigarette as the song came to an end.

"Nice tune. Real easy to follow," he complimented. "Can I ask where you heard it? I'd like to add it to my song list."

The raven-haired women hesitated slightly before answering. "My…mother used to sing it to me when I was sick. If I was ever feeling bad that song would cheer me up."

She was lying, that much Shannon knew. _Okay, mysterious lady with the melancholy emerald eyes keep your secrets, for now. _

"What's your name, pretty lady?"

"Marion. It's a common women's name," she remarked shrugging her shoulders.

"My old buddy's girlfriend was named Marion, guess that's testimony enough." Shannon faintly smiled making the connection. "He left less than a year ago to see her too."

"I hope he has an easier time finding her then I had finding my former friend. As a matter of fact I'm still looking for him." Just by gazing into her wretched eyes Shannon understood that she wasn't searching for the man physically, but more emotionally.

"In any case maybe this song will cheer you up a little." Shannon threw her a modest smile realizing that he would probably never truly understand what the women had gone through in her shadowy past.

Taking her hand in his he guided her up to the table that was the closest to the stage and then leapt into the spotlight. Landing gracefully in the middle of the stage he ground out his cigarette and leaned over the microphone as the applause died down.

"Can't say that's been the first time I've had to hop around for some attention. I actually recall having to do the same thing to get Joey over there to give me a drink last night." Shannon nodded over to the bartender just as he started dozing off for the tenth time that night. The audience responded with bellows of laughter that caused a large smirk to spread across his face.

Turning to his band he swiftly grabbed his cornet from its stand. "Alright guys, I know that the tunes we've been playing lately have gotten kind of sour, so I thought let's have a challenge."

"You're the boss," Charley answered from the back.

Shannon smiled, he remembered a time when he wasn't even in charge of his own life. But that nightmare was behind him now, now he was free. "Okay boys, just follow my lead."

He then spun around and spoke into the microphone. "Now that you're all awake, I thought we'd start off the second half with a song request that I received from one of my special friends in the front row." Winking at the dark haired woman he bowed like an old fashioned courtier. "Okay, Marion…this one's for you!"

The dedicated song poured out of the metal horn like a wounded lover, a ghost who longed to be alive. As the melody gently swayed around the room, Shannon watched Marion's reaction. She just sat there, her eyes partly shut, listening to the rise and fall of the notes swirling around her like the water falling off a faded rose.


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter is a flashback to the day after **Raiders of the Lost Ark**. It tells the story of how and why Indy and Marion broke up after the movie. Thanks for reading and please review._

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_Transcending Love_

An absent memory fluttered into Marion's head, buried under countless feelings of regret, despair, and the sense of mere hopelessness. The simple song had ignited years of her past obscured because she didn't want to feel the pain, the pain that one handsome young archeologist had once caused her just by stepping into her melancholy life.

She remembered stirring from under the silk sheets clinging loosely to her slender body, a hand resting on the side of her head, gently stroking the locks of her wavy hair from out of her eyes. Looking up with a weary smile she caught sight of the shrewd man's peaceful lopsided grin.

"Welcome back, I thought you'd never wake up." His voice was rich and strong, softly echoing within her head.

"Was I asleep that long?" Marion asked faintly, the sleep still thick in her voice.

"Through most of the night."

"I guess I needed the rest, seems like we haven't had a lot of time to relax over the past few weeks." She sat up and leaned on her elbows, noticing that the adventurer's back was turned to her.

"Marion, I'm sorry I got you caught up with the Ark and…Belloq." There was a touch of guilt in his deep voice.

For a moment quite was all that could be heard, however Marion pulled herself forward and stretched her arms around the archeologist's neck.

"As I recall I was the one who let _you_ tag along," she remarked touching the scar on his chin playfully as he turned his head around.

Indiana felt his breathing falter as she kissed his neck and her nails glided under his robe, across his back. He moved his face against her shoulder, inhaling the fragrant scent of her sun-warmed hair.

Marion pulled him closer for a kiss, her loose-fitting gown sparkling as the morning sun splashed across the room from an open window. He was gentle with her, although she wasn't nearly so gentle with him; he had to push away, standing up as he took a few cautious steps back.

"I got you something while you were sleeping," he responded hoarsely to her questioning gaze. With a crooked smile he rushed off into another room shouting over his shoulder, "I picked it up from a flower girl out in the lobby". He then emerged with a large blossoming rose held out-stretched in one hand.

"Oh, how beautiful!" Her dark eyes seemed to glow upon receiving the flower and inhaling its sweet perfume-like fragrance. "You remember the first time you gave me a rose?"

"You bet I do. It was right before you're father called me a ditch digger off the streets of Chicago and kicked me out of his house." Indiana chuckled as he grabbed his brown pants and khaki linen shirt from off the dresser next to the bed.

Marion smiled, shrugging. "He was always able to see right through your little act Jones."

Indiana turned sharply. "Now what's that suppose to mean?"

"Come on Indiana, don't try to act so innocent. I know that whenever Dad would come around you'd just turn up the charm and act like you knew everything."

"Who says I don't?" he replied smugly.

"I do." Marion shot back sternly. "I heard that song you were trying to hum while you were taking a shower this morning. It had a nice melody; that was until I peaked my head inside the bathroom. Let's just say you should make sure the door's shut all the way next time."

Indiana felt like he'd just been sucker-punched, blinking his eyes in surprise at her response. But his scowl quickly materialized into a smirk as he realized what she was really after. He draped his shirt and pants over a shoulder, pointing a cautionary finger at her. "Hey. Be nice."

The woman grinned up at the archeologist. "You know, you were like a son to him."

"Who, Abner?" Indiana smiled faintly. It wasn't the first time he'd been reminded of the close relationship he had once had with his former mentor. In part, meeting him was one of the major reasons why he became an archeologist in the first place. "Yeah, he always did have a way to put me in my place while I was around him."

"Too bad he had to settle with baby–sitting you the whole time."

"I'd say it paid off," he replied brusquely shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah, and you're damn lucky it did or we'd still be in Cairo getting chased around by Nazis."

"I got us out' a there, didn't I?" Indiana exclaimed as he taped a thumb on his chest.

"No. You got yourself out of there and left me in the hands of those bloodthirsty lions." Marion argued, her eyes flashing like lightning.

Startled and shaking his head Indiana attempted to reason with her, "that's not how it happened, I tried—."

"To what? To rescue me?! I would have died in the explosion too, if _I_ hadn't jumped out of that basket when the damn Nazi truck had started up!" Marion recalled the incident with aggravation. "The only reason why I wasn't able to get back to you was because I was hit over the head by some goon and dragged out of sight."

Indiana wasn't surprised and crossed his arms in frustration, he should have known that to begin with. He knew that it had been wrong for her to come to Cairo with him but it wasn't until after they'd been attacked in the market that he'd realized it. By then it was too late. There was nothing _he_ could do. "I'll just have to be more careful next time."

"Next time?" Marion repeated the phrase slowly, as if trying to decipher the markings on a thousand year old relic. With her eyes full of mystery she shifted her gaze from the red rose laying on the bed back up to the intrepid archeologist. "Indiana, what are you trying to hide from me now?"

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed and marched forward to confront him Indiana grumbled under his breath, "my luck never changes." He instantly decided he'd have to tell her the truth eventually and better sooner then later. "A couple of days before I left the States to search for you and you're father a former student of mine, Charlie Dunne if I remember correctly, came into contact with me."

Marion threw Indiana a sharp stare, knowing what had to come next. "And, what?"

He opened his mouth to reply but Marion cut him off. "Oh, let me guess. This kid _just_ happened to know right where some kind of ancient artifact is hidden?"

"Well, as a matter of fact—."

"Damn it Indy, I thought you were through with adventurers!" Marion scowled stomping her foot angrily on the floor.

"I did too, after the Ark was taken away from me by Eaton and his _top men_," the archeologist recalled dreadfully. "They just couldn't understand what we'd gone through, how many lives were at stake because of the Ark's existence…" Indiana paused carefully retrieving his tattered felt fedora from the top of a small dresser. Lovingly he brushed his hand over its brim before placing it on top of his head. "It's because of artifacts like that, that I _have_ to continue. If I stop now there's no telling what the Nazi's could do if they get their hands on something tangible. I have to be there to stop them."

"Can't you just let go, let the damn world take care of it's self. Leave it all behind and stay with me?"

Indiana touched her chin affectionately. "Sweetheart, it's a tempting offer but I can't."

With an overwhelming mix of rage and disappointment Marion viciously shoved his hand away and turned her back to him.

Indiana sighed deeply moving his hand toward her tenderly, but instead it fell limply by his side. Reopening old wounds just wasn't his style; he liked to keep things in the past, although that's were he spent most of his time.

After a lengthy moment of silence Marion decided that if she couldn't turn the tenacious archeologist away from adventure then she'd like to at least know what was going to make him abandon her. "So what kind of mystical relic is it this time? The holy grail or something?" She turned around to find the room empty. "Just like him to run off without a moment's notice. I'm surprised he can even hold down that teaching bit," she snickered cold-heartily.

"The Ikons of Ikammanen," a muffled voice abruptly announced from the bathroom. "Oh, and I have my secretary Irene to thank for helping out when I'm away."

Marion jumped back, startled. She was momentarily caught off guard but quickly recovered; ignoring the remark he made about his secretary she continued malevolently. "Of course I should have known _that_ by now. I mean I've only been around the world hundreds times that by now I've probably seen about every artifact known to man."

"Its different this time Marion," Indiana gently explained, emerging from the bathroom buttoning up his cotton khaki shirt, his fedora tilted to one side on his head, "the kid got killed."

Marion's features instantly softened, despair rapidly filled her eyes. "What, how?"

"I dono," he wistfully responded, "I was barely able to understand Marcus over the phone this morning. Seems he was shaken up about it too."

"So what are you going to do?"

Indiana moved the strap of his ruthlessly weather-beaten satchel fondly around his neck and over his shoulder while answering back, "Last time I saw the kid he mentioned something about Kirkambo, a northeastern African costal town. I figure I'll find some answers there."

"Well, I'm coming with you then," Marion insisted running over to her luggage, throwing clothes into them haphazardly.

"Hold on," Indiana called grabbing his kangaroo hide bullwhip from the top of a dresser. Walking over he paused in front of his suitcase and snapped the bullwhip to his belt. "Just a few minutes ago you were trying to get me to stay here. And now you want to come with me?" He turned his face to meet her dazzling, radiant eyes.

"That was before I knew all the details." She persisted placing her hand earnestly on his, "Indiana, I want to help."

There was a moment of stillness, like the world had frozen around them. In that moment Indiana peered deeply into her eyes. What he saw there was the same eagerness and thrill that he'd seen the first time he gazed into them, the last time they were together in Chicago. _She hasn't grown up any, just gotten older_, he realized. And it was that same perilous eagerness and thrill that had almost clamed her life several times over the past couple of weeks.

She was just too unpredictable, too impulsive. Indiana couldn't count how many times he'd saved her life on their little _expedition _together; he didn't need the extra tension that she always seemed to bring along with her. He found himself many a time trying to think his way out of uncertain death but at the same time he would be genuinely more concerned about how she was and if she was all right.

He knew that it wouldn't be the happily ever after ending that they'd wished for and that she'd probably despise him after he left. But he firmly decided that she'd be better off hating him for the rest of her life then ending up dead because of him.

So it was with that last thought that he turned away from her sweet, soft gaze and dived into his suitcase. As his hands pushed ungraded school papers aside and finally found their way to the bottom of the leather bag he could feel her frustration intensify.

"Honey, you'd just slow me down." Trying to ease the simple words out had been difficult and he found himself strangely relieved once his hand grazed across the smooth grip of his revolver. Pulling it from under the layered stack of papers he snapped it open and glanced down into the chamber.

"That's not the truth and you know it!" Marion cried; her anger overflowed like it had countless times before.

The archeologist barely flinched as her bitter words slapped him across the face. Drawing a deep breath he slowly closed the heavy handgun and slid it into the leather holster hanging limply by his side. _Boy, she'd really like Shannon if she ever met him_, Indiana decided as he thought of all the times they had argued together in the past. _They'd really make a great couple_.

Marion took a step closer, the silent pain that emanated inadvertently from the adventurer had caused her anger to subside slightly. "So what do you expect me to do while you're gone?"

Indiana turned away snatching his leather jacket from the grasp of a vanity chair. As he slipped his arms into the heavily faded leather he pulled a small stack of green paper from the pocket. Extending his arm toward her he replied, "Here's the two thousand I promised you."

A promise? She'd almost forgot. _Who am I kidding, I did forget_, she told herself matter-of-factly. At the time it had been the _only_ reason why she'd taken that scoundrel from her past up on his offer. She had wanted to get out of that gritty tavern so badly that she was about to do anything to succeed.

But now, everything was different. "I don't need it."

"Oh, yes you do," Indiana boldly argued the expression of pain intensifying in his eyes.

"I need _you_!" Marion screamed and lunged into his arms.

Indiana was caught off guard and staggered back a few steps, dropping the clip of money. He held her close as she buried her face in his jacket and loving tears of sorrow started welling up around her eyes. Stroking her dark locks of hair he tried to soothe her pain, to comfort her. "Marion, you'll always have me, even when I'm gone. The love that we've shared together will never go away." Softly he brushed his lips across her forehead tenderly declaring, "I'll always love you."

"Then why can't I come with you?" she softly asked glancing up into the swashbuckler's dark hazel eyes.

Indiana tensed up, the blood rushing out of his face. "Because I…" he dropped his eyes; "I just don't want…" raised them for a moment only to find her still fondly glancing up at him.

"What? Why can't you tell me!?" Marion broke out in a trembling voice.

"Look, I care for you too much to see anything bad happen to you. You just don't know what it's like," he insisted. "When you see someone you love die right before your eyes." He paused briefly, searching for words with which to express himself. "You feel helpless, you have regrets. You should have been there, you could have made a difference."

"But, I'm right here. I'm fine."

Indiana shook his head. She still didn't understand, _probably never will_. Seeing the exploding nazi truck, imagining the horrific image of Marion being engulfed by the merciless flames. It had all but caused him to give up and jump into the fire to die right along side her. He looked at her in silence, his face unresponsive and very grave, looked at her intently. _You'll never know how much you mean to me_, he declared, fighting to keep the emotive words to himself.

When the archeologist spoke at last, it was in a small tired voice. "I've said all I've said and I don't expect you be happy with me or the decision that I'm making," he paused gazing deeply down into her misty eyes. "Actually, I did expect to have a little trouble with getting you to let me go." He glanced over her shoulder toward the bedroom, a rueful smile appeared over his rugged features.

Following his eyes Marion turned her head. "You bastard," she slowly mumbled, a soft smirk materializing over her sorrowful face. "You had this planed from the beginning." Lying flaccidly on top of the bed was the red rose that Indiana had given her. She should have known, he'd tried the same scheme before; _I guess he still thinks he can charm his way out of anything._

"I hope to see you when I come back."

Marion turned toward the solemn distant voice catching a glimpse of her love standing next to the door, straitening his fedora as he picked up his suitcase. "Do you really think I'll just sit around and wait for you to come swaggering back into my life?"

Indiana was motionless for a moment before slowly shacking his head; a sad smirk dominating his finely honed features. "Goodbye Marion," he announced, in a voice so mournful, with an expression so profoundly miserable, that she _had_ to look away. Sorrowfully her eyes ascended onto the bed and watched a pedal from the crimson rose fell onto the floor as the door closed tightly shut behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

_Song of Memories Lost_

Almost as quickly as the memory had appeared it was gone once again, buried within the dark recess of her mind. Blinking her gaze shifted from the lanky jazz musician playing center stage to a flower vase sitting in the middle of the small table. Reaching forward she grasped the blossoming rose and brought it up to her nose, inhaling deeply.

The song's melody dug into the very essence of her heart causing tears of sorrow to well up around her eyes. Shaking her head she lowered her eyes, deciding that she was being stupid. _I'm lost to myself over a damn song_, she dismally tried to keep the grief-stricken belief to herself.

When Shannon had finished, those wonderful, lovely emerald green eyes seemed bright and misty for a momentary heartbeat as if remembering a lost dream. He smiled down at the woman as the rest of the audience reacted with a series of applauses.

Marion turned to the cornet player. Those eyes, that smile focused all their charm on him in gratitude. "What's you're name?"

"Jack," the musician responded impulsively to the simple question.

"Play it again, Jack."

Her sad eyes stole his heart. Jack gathered up his cornet, ignoring the winching pain in his aching shoulder. The mouthpiece was still warm on his tongue as he played his heart out. As the song gently eased out from his instrument the audience seemed to fade away along with the members of his band. Leaving both Jack and Marion alone but together inside the tranquil nightclub.

Both forgotten lovers looked into each other's eyes, the faint image of a man shared between them. For Jack it was the vision of a disreputable friend from his early days and for Marion a helpless lover and adventurer.

Outside in the relentless cold the raging snowstorm ripped through the deserted streets but the jazz inside The Nest was always blue hot.

-- _Love never dies, love never fails, love never ever fades away._


End file.
